


O, Dear My Prince

by Kaylee no Valerian (KayleeArafinwiel)



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/Kaylee%20no%20Valerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Imriel/Mavros drabbleish bits and pieces. (The title is, of course, adapted from the poem written by Anafiel Delaunay about Prince Rolande.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shahrizai Submission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble-and-a-half. Mavros has finally gotten what he wants for Imri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : I figure Imriel would have had to practice playing the top and gotten comfortable with it sometime.

“Mavros, get up. Come here.”

 

Stretching languidly, Mavros Shahrizai rolled onto his back, the motion placing his full weight on the myriad of welts and bruises he acquired the night before. He shivered with pleasure as the ache spread through his body. Opening one sapphire-blue eye, he gave his cousin-turned-lover a saucy smile.

 

“Suppose I don’t want to…my prince.” He ran his fingers idly through his blue-black hair, smirking. Imriel raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his bare chest. In one hand, he held the bronze-tipped flogger he had used the night before. Mavros’ breath quickened at the sight of it.

 

“Then I’ll just have to punish you again,” Imriel threatened. “You won’t like what I do to you then.”

 

Mavros laughed heartily at the threat. “No. I won’t like it, my lord.” He sank to his knees before Imriel and unbuttoned Imriel’s trousers deftly. “I will love it.”


	2. Ill Thoughts, Ill Words, Ill Deeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imriel marries Sidonie. And then Mavros happens by… (True double drabble, 200 words)

“Congratulations, cousin.” Mavros slapped Imriel heartily on the back. “You finally have all you ever wanted.”

“And all my mother wanted for me,” Imriel murmured. “Though not quite in the way she planned it, I suppose, Mavros.”

Mavros grinned at that. “Ah, yes. A pure-blood heir for Terre d’Ange,” he smirked. “Well, the throne is not yours, unless you plan on stabbing Sidonie in the back?” he asked. “It isn’t as though you haven’t already, after all…”

Imriel winced as the memory arose in a rush of bronze wings and blood. “That was the shoulders,” he corrected Mavros weakly before the flashback overcame him.

 

When Imriel woke, it was in Mavros’ bed at the Shahrizai estate in the City. Mavros lay next to him, stroking his hair.

“Are you well, Imri?” Mavros asked solicitously. “Forgive me. My words were ill spoken.”

 _Ill words, ill thoughts, ill deeds…_ Imriel’s stomach roiled and a chamber pot appeared under his nose just in time. As he vomited up the memories of Darsanga, Mavros spoke soothingly, encouraging him to let it all out. “The Comtesse and your Cassiline will have my hide if I don’t take care of you, cousin,” Mavros muttered. “Kushiel help me.”


	3. At the Theatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imriel and Mavros enjoy an evening at the theatre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to kmo, whose tale of Melisande and Phedre at the opera inspired this one.

Mavros had bought tickets for us to see the premiere of _La Rosa Nera,_ a play written recently in La Serenissima. He expected we would both need the diversion of the theatre; I daresay he did not expect we would attend to the performance onstage so very much. It began as the tale of an aging courtier and the flower of the court, her hair so black it shone blue, complementing the twilight of her eyes, against her ivory face. She had many lovers, but it was he, well old enough to be her father – grandfather even – whom she had wed and gotten a son upon. As the acts unfolded, my eyes narrowed and I read the audience around me as well as the events on the stage with which I was most intimately familiar. _La Rosa Nera,_ weeping as her infant was spirited into exile, her husband unable to console her; the revelation of her nefarious deeds afar. For who else could _La Rosa Nera_ be, but Melisande Shahrizai?

 

My mother.

 

I twined my fingers with Mavros’ and we watched as the actress portraying Melisande pined for her son – for me – as she sent for Phèdre no Delaunay to beg for my return. This play focused on Melisande, and so it was that I saw her point of view surrounding the events of my birth, exile, captivity, and rescue. How she sent people to guard and guide me from afar. My heart leapt into my throat, and when the curtain fell, Mavros drew me close for a kiss.

 

“Elua, Mavros!” I squeaked. “We’re in public!” He laughed as I blushed, but his laugh was not the only one in the box.

 

Someone was watching us as surely as we had been watching the rest of the court and the stage.

 

“Who is there?” I turned, and saw a flash of dark eyes, and ruby lips. Something moved in my peripheral vision, and I looked to see a single rose, _sangoire_ in colour, on the seat next to me.

 

The scent of roses was heady in the air, and that laugh I knew well.

 

_Mother._

Mavros stared at me, and all I could do was wonder.


	4. To Play the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imriel and Mavros get home from the theatre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Directly follows on from Chapter 3.

When Mavros escorted me home, or rather to the townhouse used by those of Montrève, it was to find Phèdre and Joscelin up waiting for me. “Did you enjoy the performance, Imri? Mavros?” Phèdre asked, greeting us both with a kiss. Mavros grinned his usual irrepressible grin and gave Phèdre a gallant bow. “Oh, it was very diverting, Comtesse,” he said. “I trust you found it so?”

Joscelin choked. So did I.

Mavros turned to me. “Surely you noted the Comtesse in the L’Envers box,” he said with the air of one who was stating the obvious. “She was with Lady Nicola.” I blushed. Joscelin merely grunted.

“Joscelin,” Phèdre said softly, and he subsided. I knew where Joscelin must have been, then; standing guard outside, not wishing to intrude but not wishing to leave Phèdre alone with one such as Lady Nicola, either.

 

“Very diverting,” I said quietly. “I watched the stage mayhap…too earnestly. Mavros and I had a visitor.”

“Oh?” Phèdre said, not sounding surprised in the least. When I drew the _sangoire_ rose out from behind my back, Joscelin took in a sharp breath. “Joscelin, she didn’t hurt me!” I protested. “Joscelin, she’s my _mother._ She loves me.” Joscelin’s face was inscrutable again, and I sighed. “Phèdre…”

“Go on up to bed, Imri, love, it’s late,” Phèdre replied. “Mavros, you too. Bed.”

“Yes, Comtesse,” Mavros said, giving Joscelin a wink when Phèdre’s back was turned, just to see him squirm. “Come on, Imri.”

Together, we ascended the stairs. When Mavros opened the door of my bedchamber, he stopped in his tracks.

A black silk shirt laced with gold thread and drops of scarlet nearly as deep as Phèdre’s _sangoire_ cloak was spread out on the bed, topped with another rose, and a note…a note for me.

 

_Dear Imri,_

_I would have enjoyed the performance more if you had begun earlier. You know well how much you wanted to. Bend Mavros to your will, child. He won’t mind in the least…he did want a most diverting evening. If you will play the game, play it properly._

_Mother_

I got very little sleep that night.


End file.
